


Breakfast's On Me

by Dragonie



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Morning After, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Ulysses somehow ended up being a total horndog while i was writing this, brooding in irradiated hellholes don't do wonders for the ol' sex life, it's been a long time for him okay cut the lad some slack, naughty implications but nothing explicit, seriously, why am i like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-11 22:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13533624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonie/pseuds/Dragonie
Summary: Courier Moz makes breakfast for two, because a torrid night of dam-bursting passion that acts as the culmination of an unexpected and complex romantic tension that built up from an unlikely friendship that itself sprang from a highly dramatic and emotional confrontation that was the result of a long and deeply-held albeit one-sided grudge can really work up a girl's appetite.In other words, I had the opportunity to write some serious and in-depth character exploration, and I wrote fluff again, because I guess this is who I am as a person.





	Breakfast's On Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shimmertrap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shimmertrap/gifts).



A ray of hot Mojave sunlight hit Moz’s face, shining through the cracks in the walls of the ancient farmhouse. Blearily, she sat up in bed, combing pink hair out of her eyes with her fingers. The blankets were a mess, and there was a warmth at her side, a cloying, sticky heat. A quick glance over caught dreadlocks and tribal scars; the slumbering form of Ulysses, his face looking far more peaceful than she ever could have imagined it.

_ Oh. Yeah. _

The sleep cleared from her head, and memories of the night before took its place. She grinned to herself as she gingerly extricated herself from the blankets, wriggled back into her top and shorts, trying not to wake the man sleeping next to her. May as well get a start on cooking breakfast; place didn’t have a shower, anyway, and it was too damn early for the ol’ bucket-and-cold-water method of washing. Let Ulysses sleep in, if she can; god knows it must’ve been an age since he’d got a proper night’s sleep, and besides, he’d earned it, she thought with a chuckle. She padded across the floor, a little bowlegged, when she heard a rustle behind her, felt a strong hand shoot out and grab her around the arm. Felt the tension in Ulysses’ muscles on awakening, felt it relax as he took in who was there.

“Mornin’, sleepyhead.”

“Hn.” He made a small sound in the back of his throat, flopped back onto the mattress. Peered at her curiously as she rifled through the cupboards, swearing under her breath. “Need something?”

“Yeah,” she tossed aside some pots with a  _ clang _ . “A frypan that’s not rusted all the way through. How th’ hell did you cook like this, man?”

“Didn’t,” he answered with a lazy shrug. “Only need fire to cook. Mojave provides for the rest.”

Moz rolled her eyes at him.

“Honestly, shoulda known better than to trust the culinary senses of a man who lived off MREs for god only - aha!”

She pulled an intact frying pan from the cupboard with a triumphant look on her face.

A bit more scrounging through sideboards and rummaging through packs, and there was a Deathclaw egg sizzling cheerfully in the pan. Moz scraped carefully around the sides with a scavenged spatula, before flipping it in one deft motion. Ingredients were rather thin on the ground - Ulysses’ old pad was some  _ serious _ bachelor digs - but she’d made do with less, before.

“Hn.” Ulysses retrieved his underwear from the lampshade (she hadn’t meant to throw it  _ quite _ so far last night), put his pants back on. Didn’t bother with the shirt, not that she was complaining. “Smells good.”

“‘Course it smells good,” Moz grinned, shifting the pan. “Got an Ortiz cooking it for you.” She jabbed a thumb at her chest proudly.

Ulysses chuckled. He came over to stand behind her, arms wrapped loose around her waist, head resting on her shoulder. His bare chest was hot against her back, the stubble on his cheek a pleasant rasp against her throat. His lips grazed her neck.

Moz laughed, and twisted in his arms.

“Should know better’n to bother a cook at her stove, man.” She gave the omelette another flip with one hand, while the other reached back to tangle in his locks. “Didn’t get enough last night?”

“Could take more, mention it now.”

“Better eat first,” Moz swatted at his encircling arms with a chuckle, turning off the stove as he released her. “Don’t want our breakfast burning, now.  Dunno about you, but I don’t really feel like havin’ to fight another pack of Deathclaws just ‘cause  _ someone _ couldn’t keep his pants on for five seconds.”

“Little enough trouble, for you.” Ulysses detached himself reluctantly, reached around her to pull out a single battered tin plate and a fork. Moz wrinkled her nose.

“Lemme guess; that’s all the cutlery you got?”

“Never needed more, before.”

“Shoulda known.” She rolled her eyes, but the smile didn’t fall from her face. “Guess I’m eatin’ from the pan, then. Like when Lakan and I tried to make honeycakes and ended up eatin’ half the dough before we’d even turned the oven on.” She chuckled.

“Close to your family,” Ulysses observed as she cut the omelette in two with the spatula.

“Hey, what gave it away?” Moz laughed, tipping one half onto the old plate. “You should come meet ‘em sometime; they’ll love you.” A moment’s pause, spatula wavering in midair. “...Might wanna leave out some of the details ‘bout how we met, though.”

A sudden, awkward pause. Moz cursed inwardly. Understood him better, every day; easier to coax a laugh out of him, now, but still not one hundred percent certain where the lines were.

“Come an’ eat it while it’s hot!” She laid the plate and fork on the wobbly little table, grateful for the excuse to change the subject.

Ulysses looked at the plate, and then back at her.

“Hn.” Corner of his mouth quirked up, to Moz’s relief. “Still talking about the food?”

“Wh- Oh, you  _ dog _ !” She tried unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh as she picked up the pan and spatula, sitting down in the only chair. (Hey, he got the fork; this was fair play.) “Is it getting hot in here, or is it just the whole livin’ in a desert thing?”

Spooned omelette into her mouth without waiting for his retort, lounging back in the chair, one leg resting up on the table.  _ Power move _ .

He followed suit, half-sitting on the table. Swallowed a forkful of egg and stopped, looking at it in surprise.

“Tastes good,” he said, eyebrows raised. “Been years, last ate like this.”

“Tell  _ that _ much from one look at your old kitchen.” Still, Moz couldn’t help but smile like the coyote that caught the radcanary. She may have taken up the postal life, but she still took pride in the family trade. “Come on now, eat up.”

“Fattening me up for winter?” Ulysses dug back into his omelette with evident enjoyment, eating slow, savouring the rare taste of home cooking.  _ Yep. Mom’s gonna love him _ .

“Figure with the way you’ve been talkin’, this morning, you’d be wantin’ to keep your energy up. ‘Cause I’m telling you now, I’ll be expectin’ you to make good on your words!” Moz cleaned her plate (well, pan), and leant back, arms crossed behind her head, teasing grin on her face.

“Sure you’re up to the task?” Ulysses cocked an eyebrow at her, setting aside his own empty plate. “Tired out first, seem to recall.”

“Told you I’d be calling a rematch, didn’t I? Let’s see how well you- wait, what the f-”

Her words were interrupted by Ulysses drawing beside her in one swift movement and picking her bodily up, arms under her back and knees. Between his strong arms and her short frame, it didn’t seem to pose him much difficulty.

“Look forward to it,” he said, and bent his head, and kissed her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed close as he carried her back to the bed, and the next morning it took goddamn  _ ages _ to find where her shorts had ended up in all the excitement, but both agreed that it was squarely worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Listen yes I know Nat wrote the sappiest fluff known to mankind AGAIN, what a shocker. don't look at me like that
> 
> The incomparable Courier Moz, whom I adore with all my heart and soul, is the lovely brain-daughter of the lovelier Shimmertrap, for whom I wrote this fic! Happy birthday mi amor! <3 <3 <3


End file.
